Sides of the Bed
by meshu11
Summary: He's surprised to find her on his side of the bed, but doesn't say anything...


He cannot believe he didn't piece it together sooner. It had annoyed him slightly at first, but he never questioned it at the time. Not that she would have given him an answer. Not then, and not even now – he thinks. Well, maybe now, but she wouldn't tell him directly. She wouldn't tell him that she only switches sides of the bed when she feels the most vulnerable.

When she first came home from the hospital, before he had found out that she had been raped. When he only thought she'd been beaten beyond recognition, he'd arrive home to find her already in bed. He remembers the first time he walked in – tired from a long day of work, stress and thinking of her. His trying-to-be-considerate-by-undressing-in-the-dark probably wasn't needed since she was obviously still awake. Lying quiet and still in the dark. He hadn't even realised until her sharp, almost frightened "Coop" jolted him when he headed in her direction. He didn't say anything then, just moved around to the other side of the bed, trying not to touch her much as he searched for a comfortable position.

After that it had almost become routine. She would lay there and watch him as he got ready before quickly inhaling as walked slowly towards the bed. He ignored her reaction, well tried to ignore her reaction, just like he tried to ignore the feeling that she wasn't telling him something. He ignored it like she was trying to ignore it and made his way to the other side of the bed.

The night of the line-up, as they we're driving home, he'd never seen her so still or quiet. Her earlier showing of strength had faded as soon as they'd left the police station and now she quickly made her way through their apartment to the bathroom. When he made his way in minutes later she was already in bed, on his side, covers pulled right up. He knew she wouldn't sleep. He kept tabs on her every night as he slipped in and out of his own restless slumber. But now he knew why she wasn't sleeping. Why she wouldn't let him touch her, and he watched her from the corner of his eye. She wouldn't let him stare at her outright, even when she wasn't broken with all of this she'd never liked him staring much. But he couldn't sleep, and she was laying there next to him, close enough to touch, but her mind a mile away. And he just had to stare because nothing he could think of saying seemed like enough to even pull her slightly from her inner-nightmare.

It was the night he came home from playing poker with the boys that he first realised why she liked his side of the bed so much. She was sitting in bed reading when he came in. He tried to sound pleasant, but conversations weren't something they were having lately. Then she was at it again with her clichés and he felt something in him snap. The instant look of fear on her face hit him first, but before he could do anything she'd sprinted into the bathroom, locking he door securely behind her. He stood there, palms pressed up against the wood, apologising over and over while he listened to her muffled cries from within. That was when he first realised. That that side of the bed, his side of the bed, was the quick escape. It was close to the only lockable door in the apartment, and it was even closer to the door if she felt the need to run.

He turned from the bathroom door, knowing that with Charlotte she needed to leave in her own time. No matter how much he wanted to help her. He picked up her book which had fallen and placed it on the side table before making his way to the kitchen. He made enough noise for her to hear that he wasn't in the bedroom, but she was still behind the locked door when he finally made his way back into the room. He changed quickly, throwing his clothes in the corner in frustration and climbed tiredly into bed. He could no longer hear her crying, but she wasn't moving around in there either and he strained his ears to hear _something_.

He awoke sometime later and she was next to him, eyes closed and tense so he knew she wasn't sleeping. "I'm sorry Char." She moved slightly at the sudden break in the quietness of the night, at the sudden break in her racing thoughts, but didn't relax. They both didn't sleep that night.

She wanted to have sex with him. She wanted to have sex with him tonight, which he hadn't really expected when he broached it with her over fired chicken. But then Charlotte was never really a talker. That disappointed him a little, because while he was always talking to Sheldon, he really wished he was talking to her. Hence the stuttering conversation about fried chicken and talking. He wanted to make it light and somewhat easier. But she still skipped right to the sex.

He was actually a little nervous when he walked into their room and was quite surprised to find her on her own side of the bed. If there was any a time he'd expected her to feel vulnerable, it would be now. But he knew Charlotte and her persistence on pushing things down and trying to act through them, and he also suspected that she knew, that he knew her little tell. So he climbed into bed next to her, sliding over until they were closer. They stared at each other for sometime without talking. He could feel the slight anxiety radiating from her, but the longer he looked at her, the more he kind of wanted this to happen. He was waiting for her okay though. She had to start this. He let his gaze linger on her face, but didn't try to kiss her until she almost silently gave her consent. The kiss was chaste and quick and he had to ask her is she was okay because it felt distant. He tried again, trying to remember their usual routine, but finding it difficult because she was usually more receptive. She turned from him after a few moments, but it wasn't until her heard her choke back a cry that he stopped. He felt frustration and relief all rolled into one. But most of all he felt how much she needed to be on his side of the bed right now. He pulled the blankets over her and she grasped them closer to herself. Clinging to them harder then he liked to see. From the corner of his eye he saw her shake her head at herself, and wondered in what ways she was berating herself in her head. He wanted to offer to switch sides with her, and he almost did, except she would never outwardly admit to needing it. It ended up being another sleepless night for the both of them, lost in their own thoughts. He should've given her his side of the bed.

She surprised him the second time. Her kisses were warm and almost eager, but he felt the force she was making herself do behind them. He tried to push past it, thinking that this is was what she wanted. But in the end he couldn't do it. The reaction she had had the night before still weighed heavily on his mind, and he didn't want to hurt her. Despite all of her "I'm fine's", and "not my first time's" – they really weren't ready. He wished he could tell her that, but she looked so sad as she tried to console him and he wonders how long she tried to work herself up to this in her mind. He reached for her hand again, but she wouldn't look at him and he couldn't seem to vocalise the things he wanted to say. He shares her frustration, mixed with his own feelings of disappointment churning low in his stomach, and takes little comfort from being on the safe side of the bed.

The third time, neither of their hearts were in it. The awkward, fumbling uncomfortableness of it all proved just how out-of-sync they had become. But instead of what could've well been a disaster, there seemed to be a lightness to the situation that just needed laughing at. Neither of them felt frustration or disappointment, it was like they were finally on the same page for the first time in a long time. She was looking at him expectantly and unsure of what to do next, he headed down a path he hoped would work. Seeing her smile, laugh even when he produced the left-over fried chicken lifted something in him that he didn't realise was being weighted down. He knows now that it was that night that things shifted slightly for the both of them. The talking came easier after that. Sitting there, licking the remnants of chicken from her fingers, she admitted a few things to him he thought he'd never get her to say. That night whenever he woke he'd sneak a look at her and while he would never assume she was asleep, she seemed lighter, more relaxed and comfortable, slightly sprawled close to him. This was definitely a step in the right direction.

She was as close to him as she could get, but she's back on his side of the bed again. He doesn't blame her, he practically had to beg her to go to therapy. All the talking they did now still didn't change the fact that she needed someone else to hear her. Well, that's what he had thought. Talking to Sheldon had helped him through some pretty big hurdles, and he just wanted her to start feeling like herself again. But it seemed like one step forward and two steps back and this was just another one of the many backwards steps.

He couldn't believe she was apologising to him like this was somehow her fault. The not sleeping, the fear and the no sex . He actually didn't know what to say for a second when she turned to him as asked what if she was never ready. The look on her face, the vulnerability in her voice, it pretty much broke his heart. He understood how much of herself she put out there to say that to him. His Charlotte – strong, fierce, never would have considered this two years ago Charlotte, was confiding a fear in him. All he wanted to do was gather her up in his arms and comfort her. So he did. Though they weren't at the sex place yet, she had become quite comfortable with kissing and holding, often seeking the closeness of him. Out in public he was his side of the bed to her. She seemed amused, but most importantly soothed by how he responded. She trusted him. He pulled her closer, kissing the top of her head lightly and felt her snuggle against his chest. He knew there would be more nights like this one and one's worse when she'd wake from dreams, tangled in the covers and pushing from him initially. Or nights when she's in bed before he is home from work, tears drying on her cheeks and seeking solace from beneath the sheets. Or even nights where they talk and laugh and eat dinner together and catch up on their days. He's hoping for more nights like those. But no matter how the night ends up, he knows that part of their bed-time routine, is letting her choose the side of the bed.


End file.
